


And I'm a Slave to the Dark Beat

by Sulwen



Category: Glam Rock RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:59:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/pseuds/Sulwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac's garage is the <em>best</em> place to jam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I'm a Slave to the Dark Beat

Isaac's garage is the _best_ place to jam. It's always nice and cool, and when they close the door it gets as dark as night (Tommy's always felt like he plays better in the dark), and best of all there's _tons_ of room.

It's not like he ever means to move. He usually starts a jam session sitting on the ratty old couch opposite Isaac's drum kit, leaning back into the corner with his guitar slung across his lap, just feeling chill. They don't even have to talk, now, set in the routine of dozens of afternoons just like this, in their own little world, taking only a couple beers and Sophie's knowing smile with them. Tommy lets his fingers wander over the strings, playing at tuning but really just giving his hands a chance to warm up, remember what they're for. Isaac fidgets with the placement of each little piece of his instrument – the stool he's sitting on, the pedals at his feet, the height of each cymbal. Eventually, some unspoken signal passes between them, and Isaac kicks up a beat, something simple and laid-back at first, something easy for Tommy to lay right into, slow bluesy chord progressions that come as naturally as breathing, as the beating of his heart.

It starts with a slow nodding of his head, just a little nod along with the beat, closing his eyes and letting the music relax away all the bullshit of the rest of the day. They're past any pretense of warming up, now, and Isaac plays a little faster, a little louder, throws some fills in the empty spaces between Tommy's runs, and Tommy's sitting up straight now, tapping his foot on the floor and letting his shoulders get into the motion. A crash of cymbal from Isaac, and Tommy's eyes fly open to find Isaac watching him, face lit up like it only is when he's playing, a sheen of sweat just beginning to appear on his skin.

Tommy leans forward and drives harder into the song, shifting seamlessly from the easy trailing of blues to something else, something that sits up and runs with the beat instead of just lazing after it. He watches Isaac grin and raise his game to meet him, the lean muscles of his arms tensing with the effort. And man, Tommy's played with a lot of drummers before, but Isaac...it's like he's inside Tommy's head, like he knows what Tommy's gonna do a second before he does it and exactly what he needs to do to drive it. But it's more natural than that, really, because Isaac never looks like he's _thinking_ about playing. He just _goes,_ like the music is just coming _through_ him, and that would sound like such new age bullshit except that Tommy's spent a year playing with Adam and Monte and Cam, and it's just the same with them, like their talent is somehow bigger than themselves.

He doesn't realize he's standing until he's already up, throwing his head from side to side, tasting sweat on his lips and feeling the scrape of concrete under his boots. The beat is in the floor, pounding right up through his body into his head, and he can feel it in his teeth and his chest and his fingertips where they dance on the strings. And it's too much, all that energy pulsing out of him, and he has to _move,_ headbanging with his whole body, stepping from side to side like he's playing a crowd, except he's _not._ This is just for him, just for _them,_ no one watching or taking pictures, nowhere for the energy to go but from himself to Isaac and back, building and building until he just has to plant his feet and throw his head back and _play._

When the beat suddenly stops, it throws Tommy off-balance for a second, his fingers tripping up over each other, making the strings squeal. But in the next second, Isaac is right there, tearing the guitar off over his head, setting it down as carefully as he can force himself to before shoving Tommy back toward the couch. He runs into it with the back of his knees and falls back into scratchy gray cushions, lets one booted foot drop to the floor as Isaac presses in on top of him, and there's not really space, but Isaac finds a place, slots himself right in between Tommy's legs and up against his chest until they're breathing the same air, and looking right into each other's eyes, and the beat Tommy feels isn't Isaac's drums but his heart.

He always gets off on the music, but he doesn't realize how hard he is until Isaac moves his hips, rubbing against him just right, and their lips fall open in matching moans. And suddenly Tommy can't hold back another second, wants to, has to _taste,_ and he brings his hands up to fist in Isaac's hair, pull him down into a hard kiss.

Isaac tastes like sweat, and his lips slot against Tommy's like soft sin, and Tommy can't stop his hips now, rutting up into Isaac's answering hardness in a beat of their own. Isaac doesn't stop kissing him for a second as his hands wriggle between their bodies, shoving clothing open, down, aside, finally, _finally_ getting down to the skin, and he lines them up and licks his palm and takes both their cocks in his splayed-out fingers, stroking hard and fast and oh, _too fucking good._ They're not so much kissing as panting into each other's mouths, now, and Isaac's face is pressed hard into Tommy's, and Tommy _holds_ him there, fingers tightening in his hair as Isaac does that crazy psychic thing of his again and quickens his pace just as Tommy really fucking needs him to, because he's right there, hovering, every muscle in his body aching for it, for _release._

Isaac comes first, hot hard pulses, and suddenly everything is slicker and wetter and _fuck,_ Tommy can't hold on, just lets himself go, lets Isaac's infallible beat push him right over the edge, his hips arching up off the cushions and his head thrown back, mouth twisted open, a broken gasping cry echoing through the room.

The silence that follows brings Tommy back to reality, and suddenly everything feels very _real,_ Isaac's hot breath against his face and the sweet trembling in Tommy's legs and the mess of come splattered between them. He takes a shuddering breath and releases his hold on Isaac's hair, slides his arms around Isaac's body instead and pulls him into a tight hug, and they stay just like that for a while, not ready to let go.

Eventually, they'll have to get up, and clean themselves off, open the door and let the light of the world back in. But not yet. For now, there's only the dark, and the closeness, and the electric-high music that will always be pounding away in their blood.


End file.
